


Whispers of Lavender

by alldaydream



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, As is everyone in Schitt's Creek, Don't worry David and Patrick are fine I promise, Fluff, M/M, Minor Character Death, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21876205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alldaydream/pseuds/alldaydream
Summary: Standing in the middle of the clearing was a man with dark hair, his back turned towards Patrick. A gust of wind travelled past him, swirling around the man, spinning him to turn towards Patrick, a man with dark eyes and striking eyebrows. When their eyes met, the man smiled and Patrick lost his breath.“Find me,” the man whispered with a crooked grin and then disappeared.Or a story of two souls always finding each other, in this lifetime and the next.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 23
Kudos: 142
Collections: Schitt's Creek Open Fic Night 2.0





	Whispers of Lavender

**Author's Note:**

> An AU about magic and love starring our favorite button and rose. 
> 
> This happens after they open the store, and before David's birthday. 
> 
> Also, this is so not historically accurate. I didn't have enough time to really research anything because this fic idea came very suddenly and I wanted to submit something for ofn. So I'm very very sorry to my history buffs out there! 
> 
> All mistakes are my own.

He runs. 

He runs as quickly as he can, even as his lungs feel as they are about to disintegrate. He runs as if he’s dying, because he feels like he is. 

His feet pound against the cobbled road, pain shooting up through his body. The air is hot and thick, and he feels like he’s going to suffocate.

But he runs. 

He runs into the forest, jumping over fallen tree trunks until he reaches a beautiful glade surrounded by trees and wildflowers. 

He sees the small stone cabin in his sight, his eyes wild with fear. 

_Please._

He bursts through the door, his breathing ragged and harsh. But the air is still and silent, and he feels his chest squeezing tightly. 

In the corner in a tiny bed lay a man with sweat beading on his forehead, his breathing labored. His eyes are red, his skin sallow. But he smiles. 

“There you are.”

Choking down a sob, he stumbles forward, crouching down next to the bed, grasping his hand and bringing it up to his mouth to kiss. “I’m here,” he says in a broken whisper.

“You look terrible.”

He laughs through his tears, running his hands through the damp man’s hair, scratching his nails along his scalp. “Forgive me for my appearance, your grace.”

The man smiles weakly. “I’m not your prince anymore.”

But he shakes his head, tears pooling in his eyes. “You will always be my prince.” He leans in to brush his lips lightly against the prince, feeling his heart squeezing painfully. 

The prince’s smile widens and he lifts his left hand to cup his face, a simple golden band glinting in the sunlight. “And you’ll always be mine.”

The man breathes out harshly, standing up from his spot. “We need to get you back to the palace. You need a proper bed, and the doctor. Anything-”

He’s cut off by the prince grabbing his hand. He stops, frozen. 

“This curse can’t be cured by a doctor,” the prince murmurs. “I want to be here with you.”

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers. The prince tugs on his hand and the man is back down on his knees. “There has to be a spell to reverse this-”

“I don’t want to spend my last moments with my nose in a spellbook. I want them with you.”

The man cries openly now, clutching onto the prince’s hand.

“Of all the riches in the world,” the prince says running his hand through the man’s hair, “it will be you that I will miss the most.”

He lets out a sob, “It’s not fair. I only just found you.”

The prince smiles, “And you will find me again.”

The man closes his eyes and rests his head on the bed. 

“Give me your hand,” the prince says reaching outward with his left hand. The man grasps it with his, their wedding bands joined together. The prince begins murmuring under his breath with his eyes closed and brows furrowed. 

“W-what are you doing?”

“Sealing our memories,” the prince replies as magic swirls around them. “Sealing our love for this lifetime and the next.”

A gentle wind fills the room, a glow of lavender settling down into the floorboards. 

The man looks away, his throat tight. “I don’t know what to do without you.”

“Live,” the prince says. “Live a good life as a good man, so that the heavens will gift us with each other again.”

“It’s not fair,” the man whispers. 

“It’s not,” the prince says tracing the man’s lips with his finger. “But it won’t be long until you find me again.”

The man nods his head, kissing the palm of his prince. “I’ll find you. I will run to you. I’m yours, in this lifetime and and the next.”

“Always,” the prince says scooting over. “Come here.”

The man carefully lies down next to him, the prince curling up into his side and resting his head on his chest. 

“Will you stay here until I go?” The prince asks quietly. The man nods his head wordlessly, tightening his arms around his prince. 

“Find me.”

* * *

David Rose knew he shouldn’t have believed it, but he did. He believed that he could be loved and that maybe this time it would be real and different. But as he stares at the spot where Sebastien had stood before leaving him, he wonders why he bothers at all. 

Love simply does not exist for him. 

_“Everyone has a soulmate,”_ his last girlfriend had said in the middle of a crowded restaurant site months ago. _“I don’t think you’re mine.”_

It should have hurt, but it didn’t because David knew she wasn’t his either. But ever since she said the word soulmate, that’s all David has been able to think about. He feels like he’s constantly searching for his. And he thought he found it in Sebastien. 

But he was wrong. Like he always is. 

So when David goes to pick up the pieces of his broken heart again, he stops himself. He doesn’t want to do this anymore. He can’t handle another desperate spiral of devastation.

So he leaves it because you can’t break what’s already been broken.

It’s for the best. But David still wishes. For a miracle, just one. He doesn’t see a swirl of lavender as his head hits the pillow.

* * *

Patrick Brewer slams his trunk shut with a heavy sigh. He’s doing it. He’s leaving the only home he’s ever known to figure out what it is that’s wrong with him. Because there is something wrong with him for not being able to marry a girl like Rachel.

She’s beautiful, smart and funny. She and his parents are close and she’s been supportive of everything Patrick has ever done in his life.

But he can’t marry her. 

When he was seventeen, he was so sure that she was the one for him. That there was no one else on this earth that made more sense for Patrick Brewer. She was his soulmate.

But he can’t marry her. 

He opens his car and sits, resting his head on the steering wheel in front of him. Patrick is terrified, he doesn’t know what he’s doing or where he’s going. But he has to. 

He shifts the car into drive and goes, and goes, and goes until he comes to a town five hours away from home. 

All Patrick wants is to feel right, just once. He doesn’t see a swirl of lavender as his car drives off into the distance. 

* * *

“All I’m saying is, do we _really_ need avocado cold press soap in our inventory?” Patrick asks teasingly. 

They’re driving back from Thornbridge after meeting with one of their vendors who introduced them to her newest line of organic soaps. 

“Yes because they compliment the goat milk oatmeal soaps we already carry,” David replied with his nose in the air. 

“As the numbers guy I need to caution you about spending our budget on expanding untested inventory.”

“And as the creative genius I need to remind _you_ about the importance of curating exceptional products that are also exclusive to our store creating a unique shopping experience for our customers.”

Patrick grins from behind the wheel, amused by David as he always is. 

“Okay David, if you want it, it’s yours,” Patrick relents like he always does. It never seems possible for Patrick to deny David anything. 

David preens from the passenger seat, reaching behind him to grab one of the many snacks he packed for the four hour road trip. 

Patrick isn’t sure why he decided to invest in David’s business. Okay, he may have an inkling as to why he did it, but it was too bizarre of a reason to say out loud. 

A very vivid fever dream is what lead Patrick to David. It was his first night at Ray’s, Patrick feeling overwhelmed by his impulsive move to Schitt’s Creek and the stress causing Patrick’s body to shut down. He hunkered down in bed, wrapping blankets tightly around his body as he shivered in the warm air. 

After tossing and turning for an hour, he finally gave way to exhaustion only to awake in a peculiar dream land that left him with many questions when he awoke the next morning. A dream about a man he had never met before with thick eyebrows and a crooked grin.

Patrick turns his head and looks at David with a soft smile on his face as he tries to choose between two different types of chips. 

_Damn, I like him a lot._

“I don’t know if I really need artificial cheese dust-Patrick! Watch out!”

Patrick snaps his eyes back towards the road and sees a deer crossing and quickly swerves the car to the right, careening off the road. Without thinking, he reaches out and grabs David’s arm, squeezing his fingers tightly. He hears the sound of crunching metal and the windshield shattering. 

Patrick doesn’t remember anything before he blacks out.

* * *

His head hurts. His head hurts _a lot_. 

“Fuck,” David murmurs, raising his hand to gently touch the side of his head. “Fuck.”

“David. _David!_ ” 

“What!” David snaps. He blinks his eyes open and sees Patrick’s concerned face, immediately feeling guilty for snapping at this cute button of a man. 

“Oh thank God,” Patrick whispers. “Can you move? Are you hurt?”

David flexes his fingers and moves his shoulders slightly. Other than the headache, David feels unhurt. 

“I feel okay,” David murmurs back. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just my head a little bit when I hit the window. But other than that I’m fine,” Patrick breathes out. “Can you open your door?”

David reaches for the handle and pushes it open. The metal crunches and he has to really push on the door, but it gives and opens up just enough. “Yeah, I can get out.”

“Okay, okay, let’s get out and work from there.” 

David nods his head and carefully steps out of the car, being extra conscience to see if any part of his body is in pain. But he feels perfectly fine. 

“I guess it was just a bump in the road-oh my God,” David says when he sees the car. 

“I know,” Patrick says grimly from beside him. 

The car is completely wrecked. The hood is crushed up against the bark of a thick oak tree, the windshield smashed open. 

“How did we survive that?” David breathes out. 

“I think it’s best not to ask questions. Come on,” Patrick says resting a hand on David’s lower back. “Let’s go to the road and call for help.”

David nods dumbly and lets Patrick guide him back towards the road, feeling Patrick’s hand burning into his back. 

They sit by the side of the road after calling the police, Stevie, and his parents. It’s a warm June day, the sun still high in the sky, and David is grateful for Patrick doing everything he can to distract him.

“So Stevie pretended to be mad at you to bail out of the dinner party? And you fell for that?”

“Stevie is a surprisingly believable actress,” David says defensively. “Also it was just an overall awkward situation so it was difficult to gage any kind of sincerity with her at that point.”

Patrick chuckles, picking at the grass next to him. “You guys are good together.”

“She’s a very important friend.”

Patrick grins widely. “What about me?”

David swallows thickly, butterflies erupting in his tummy. “You are an adequately important friend.”

Patrick throws his head back and laughs, the sound running through David’s bones. 

“I feel the same way, David,” Patrick says with a twinkle in his eyes. 

David looks down and squeezes his lips tightly together, a blush tinting his cheeks. 

God, it was annoying how often Patrick made him blush. It just didn’t go with David’s overall aesthetic. But here he was being reduced to a blubbering mess whenever Patrick was around. 

It isn’t long before the sound of sirens fill the air, alerting them to their impending rescue. They both stand up, dusting off their pants as an ambulance and police cruiser come to a halt. Following behind them is Stevie’s car. Before the paramedics even get to them, his father’s voice pierces through the air. 

“David! David, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, dad-”

“Oh David, we have been absolutely _gutted_ , are you sure you’re of sound mind? Do you remember who I am?” His mother asks from the car window, not bothering to step out. 

“I’m _fine_ ,” David grits out. 

“David, can you for once like _not_ get stranded on the side of the road?” Alexis asks from the car as well. 

“Oh my God,” David says covering his eyes with his hands. 

Patrick stifles a laugh from beside him and once again rests his hand on the small of David’s back. 

“Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s go get checked out.”

* * *

They’re given a clean bill of health from the paramedics and the car, or what’s left of it is towed away, the wreckage even more shocking as it’s brought into the sunlight. 

“I can’t believe you guys survived that,” Stevie says from beside him. 

“I know,” David says numbly as he watches the car be taken away. 

“Come on, let’s go home.”

“How? My family very inconveniently clambered into your car.”

“Reinforcements were called,” Stevie says cryptically. David furrows his eyebrows before his stomach coils with dread as a new voice fills the air. 

“Dave! I’m here to rescue you! Good thing you didn’t take my car with you this time!” Roland shouts from his truck. 

David tips his head back with his eyes tightly shut. 

“What did I do in a past life to deserve this?”

* * *

The ride back from the accident is chaotic due to Roland’s rambling. But Patrick can’t bring himself to mind because he spent it with his thigh pressed very closely to David’s. Patrick feels like he can still feel his heat even after he’s settled into his bed for the night. 

He thinks back to the accident, wincing at the image of his car being reduced to nothing more than scrap metal. It shouldn’t have been possible getting out of something like with just a slightly bruised head. 

He feels guilty, it’s his fault for being distracted. He could have hurt himself, he could have hurt David. A lump forms in Patrick’s throat at the thought of David being hurt. If something had happened to him, Patrick isn’t sure he would have been able to forgive himself. 

_“You are an adequately important friend.”_

For Patrick, David was much more than that. He was a constant in his life. A chaotic, dramatic, and _beautiful_ constant. But Patrick craved for more. He needed more of David in his life. 

After restlessly pacing his room with unladen guilt, Patrick finally settles into his bed, his eyes closing quickly as he lets his tired body rest. He smiles knowing that when his mind finally eases its way down, David will appear in his dreams, as he has since the night Patrick came down with the flu.

When his body finally gave in to the sickness, he woke up in the middle of a cobbled road, the skies dark and cloudy. Nothing looked familiar, but there was something in the air that tickled Patrick’s skin, an invisible force, something like magic. He wandered the road until it turned into a dirt road encased in trees, until he came across a beautiful clearing with wild flowers, the smell of lavender in the air. Standing in the middle of the clearing was a man with dark hair, his back turned towards Patrick. A gust of wind travelled past him, swirling around the man, spinning him to turn towards Patrick, a man with dark eyes and striking eyebrows. When their eyes met, the man smiled and Patrick lost his breath.

_“Find me,”_ the man whispered with a crooked grin and then disappeared. 

When Patrick woke up the next morning, his fever had broken and his body was buzzing, the scent of lavender still in his nose. His dream confused him because he had never seen the man before. And it is impossible to dream of someone you’ve never met.

And when David Rose walked into Ray’s living room a month later with dark eyes and striking eyebrows, Patrick felt something shift, something in the universe. 

_This one_ , a voice inside of him whispered when he shook David’s hand. 

_Yes, this one._

* * *

David is reorganizing the moisturizers when Stevie strolls in.

“We’re closed,” David says absentmindedly. 

“I’m just a poorly woman who is in need of some wine,” Stevie says dropping her satchel by the counter and leaning up against it. 

“Are you also going to pluck some cheese to go with it?” David asks haughtily. “Or are you here to just steal the wine.”

“I’m also out of toner.”

“Between you and my family, I’m surprised I’m still in business.”

“It’s a good thing you have such a great _partner_.”

David looks at Stevie sharply. “I will not be attacked in my store, this is a safe space for me.”

“Where is Patrick anyway?”

“He’s at home trying to sort away his insurance. Hopefully he’ll have a new car within the next week or so.”

“I still can’t believe you guys survived that wreck without a single scratch. Are you sure you don’t remember any of it?”

“Nothing. I just remember this stupid deer that was inconveniently crossing the street and then suddenly we’re stuck against a tree.”

“Huh. Almost like magic.”

“Magic,” David mutters to himself. When he looks up he sees Stevie stuffing a jar of tapenade into her bag. “You’re a nuisance, get out of my store.”

* * *

Patrick didn’t hike much until he moved to Schitt’s Creek. Now about four months later, Patrick finds himself trudging up a woody path most mornings, the dewy ground beneath his feet. It is the perfect way for him to decompress, let his mind wander aimlessly as he lets his body work up a sweat. He thinks about his move, the store, David. Mostly David. 

_David_.

Patrick knows he has feelings for David and it’s been more and more difficult to maintain strictly professional thoughts about his business partner. And his dreams have not been helpful. 

_Find me._

But where to look?

Patrick’s mind is filled with David’s face when the rain begins, tiny droplets hitting his cheeks before the skies unleash a heavy downpour that soaks into Patrick’s skin. 

“Shit!” He mutters, shielding his eyes with his head. He’s too far from his car to really make a run for it so he runs further into the forest, hoping the trees will offer some protection. He walks and walks further into the woods, cursing his bad luck, not knowing where he’s going, but his feet carrying him somewhere. He goes and goes until he’s gasping for breath, leaning against a tree.

Patrick’s skin begins to tickle, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. 

“ _Find me_ ,” a voice whispers into his ear. 

“Where are you?” Patrick asks out loud. 

“ _Find me._ ”

Patrick looks around, raising his hands up to his eyes to shield them from the rain.

“Where are you,” Patrick whispers. Suddenly a gust of wind passes through him, the scent of lavender surrounding him. 

And as quickly as the rain began, the rain stops, the sky opening up, and Patrick is standing in the middle of the forest, drenched.

“What the fuck?”

* * *

“What the fuck?” David exclaims, looking at Stevie in shock. 

Stevie shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. “Yup.”

“What the fuck do you mean your grandmother was a witch?”

“She was a witch.”

“Stevie!”

“It’s true! She was a witch, the last witch in her family. Or at least I think so because I know I’m definitely not a witch.”

David is standing by the cash register with his mouth opening and closing in confusion. 

“What kind of witch? Did she fly on a broom? Did she have boils on her face?”

“None of that, she just did spells and shit. She also used crystals.”

David sputters, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because there’s something weird going on. I may not be able to turn my enemies into toads, but I do know when something fishy is going on.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this information,” David mutters leaning heavily against the counter. 

“Have you noticed anything weird lately?”

“No,” David replies. But his mind is suddenly bombarded with little happenings here and there that David hasn’t been able to explain. His dreams mainly, vivid and always the same, Patrick standing in the middle of a cobble stone road smiling at him. 

His dreams started before he even met Patrick which is worrisome. 

Not to mention that fact that he's also been hearing voices whenever Patrick is around.

_This one,_ it says. _Find me._

Yeah, definitely something you don't want to mention to your platonic business partner that you are secretly pining for every day.

“Just trust me when is say something is going to be happening soon. I don’t know what, but your accident is the start of something.”

“A witch, you’re telling me you’re related to a witch.”

“She was a good one too. She once turned Gabby Summers upside because she pushed me off a swing when I was six.”

“Oh my God.”

* * *

Patrick makes it to the store by noon, dressed in fresh and dry clothing, his mind still buzzing with what happened in the morning. He walks in holding two cups, a coffee for David and a tea for himself. 

“Afternoon, stranger,” David says with a sparkle in his eyes, taking the cup from Patrick gratefully. 

“Afternoon,” Patrick murmurs gently. “Anything exciting happen this morning?”

“Well, we had two customers buy the avocado cold press soap,” David says with a triumphant grin. “Bob stopped by to ask about the organic wool knit sweaters and if they came in chartreuse.”

“Oh no, not chartreuse.”

“I know, a travesty really. Oh, and Stevie told me her grandmother was a witch,” David says taking a sip of his coffee. 

“I’m sorry what?” Patrick asks with his eyebrows knitted together. 

“Yes, apparently witches are real. Stevie recounted several stories from her youth about her grandmother’s magical prowess.”

“Did Stevie get into our wine this morning?”

“No, just a jar of the tapenade.”

“Huh,” Patrick says thinking to himsef. “A witch.”

“Yes, she said she can feel something about to happen.”

“Is Stevie a witch?”

“Not in the traditional sense at least.”

“Can she spell our store to have more customers?”

“That’s not necessary because I have full faith in our business,” David says turning his nose upward. “Also, I already asked and she said no.”

* * *

“David, are you sure you know where we’re going?” Patrick asks from the passenger seat. 

“Yes, I am confident that this is the correct road,” David says from behind the wheel, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. They’ve been driving down a dirt path for the last hour, going deeper and deeper into an enshrouded forest. 

They’re making a trip to talk to a potential vendor about some organic home made pasta. It has been about a month since their accident, life falling back into place despite Stevie’s rather ominous predictions. 

Everything was back to normal, aside from the fact that Patrick has added “following mysterious voices into the forest” along side his morning hikes. He finds himself being drawn back there every time he’s out, the mysterious energy pulling him in before he can tell his feet to stop walking. 

“David, maybe we should pull over and backtrack, I think we’re lost.”

“Fine,” David sighs, pulling over to the side of the road. “Nothing looks familiar. I think I took a wrong turn back there.”

“It’s fine, we’ll figure it out,” Patrick says gently. “I’m just going to stretch my legs out and then we can turn back around and find the main road.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” David murmurs and unbuckles his seatbelt as well. 

“I think I may know where we are,” Patrick says following him out. “There’s a hiking trail not too far from here that I go to. So we can’t be too lost.”

“Hiking?” David says crinkling his nose. 

“Not a fan of the great outdoors?” Patrick asks teasingly. 

“I’ve been known to enjoy woodland landscape mural, thank you very much,” David replies with a sniff. 

Patrick laughs, shaking his head with amusement. Riling David up has become one of his favorite things.

“ _Find me._ ”

Patrick stops suddenly. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” David asks looking around. 

“ _Find me._ ”

“Did you say something?” David asks. 

“You heard that too?” Patrick asks his eyes darting everywhere. 

“ _Find me._ ”

“Where are you?” Patrick asks, following the voice. 

“Patrick, where are you going?” David asks panicked. But Patrick keeps walking until he’s no longer on the dirt road, but walking deeper into the forest. 

“Patrick! I’m not dressed correctly for this!” David shouts from behind him. 

“ _Find me._ ”

“I’m trying to,” Patrick says in frustration. Patrick keeps walking, branches crunching underneath his feet. His eyes look around frantically, trying to find the voice. 

“Patrick, slow down!”

“ _Find me_.”

“Patrick, this is dangerous!”

“ _Find me._ ”

“Patrick - Argh!”

Patrick stops walking and whips around. David is on the ground, clutching onto his leg. 

“David!” Patrick shouts and run towards him, ice in his veins. “What happened, where are you hurt?”

“I stepped on something and my ankle twisted,” David says between gritted teeth. 

“Why did you follow me? You should have stayed back.” Patrick asks, his heart pounding painfully against his chest.

“I wasn’t going to let you walk into an unknown forest alone,” David says with a glare.

“Okay, okay you’re right. I’m sorry, lets get you back to the car,” Patrick says gently pulling David up from the ground. He wraps an arm around David’s waist, pulling him flush to his side. 

“Ow,” David whimpers quietly, his eyes growing wet.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry David,” Patrick whispers miserably. 

“Patrick,” David says quietly. “Do you know where we are?”

Patrick looks around at the trees, his body going cold. “No.”

“Okay,” David says closing his eyes. “Okay, I have about five minutes before I lose my shit.”

Patrick takes a deep breath and asses the situation. It’s only noon so it’ll be light out until they figure out how to get out of the forest. And Patrick is sure that the hiking trail is somewhere around here. He looks around, desperately searching for anything recognizable.

“Let’s go this way,” Patrick says steering David to the right.

“I don’t know if I trust your judgement right now,” David says petulantly. 

“No, really. I told you I come around here for a hiking trail. Let’s go this way,” Patrick says guiding David forward. David hobbles alongside him, Patrick tightening his hold on David waist. 

They walk carefully, David limping and letting out a sound of pain every now and then. 

“Come on, you should rest a little,” Patrick says when he spots a large boulder, helping David sit down on it gently. 

“This would be much more tolerable if I had something to eat,” David says, gingerly sitting on the rock. 

“I’m sorry, David. This is all my fault,” Patrick says guiltily. 

“It’s okay,” David sighs. “Although, I do want to know what on earth came over you to hurtle into an unknown forest.”

“I heard something,” Patrick says lamely. 

“Yes, I heard the same thing. But that doesn’t mean we should go chasing after it.”

Patrick takes a deep breath. “I know, but it keeps calling for me.”

Suddenly a gust comes towards them quickly, David raising his arms to shield himself from the leaves pelting his face. 

David looks around the forest as the lavender wind surrounds them. “What the hell?”

“David?” Patrick says reaching for him, suddenly afraid.

“Patrick,” David replies back, equally as terrified as the wind picks up around them. “Patrick!”

And then darkness.

* * *

The sun is high in the sky when the prince exits his carriage. He’s frowning, as he always does, the townspeople around him bowing down low. He nods towards the crowd, letting his long cape billow behind him as he walks forward. 

He doesn’t want to be outside, he’d much rather be up in his chambers than fulfill his duty in welcoming the visiting Duke and his family. But the prince begrudgingly agreed to it, mostly due to his uncle being quite adamant in his public appearance for the townsfolk. 

The prince sighs deeply and walks down he cobbled road, people bowing and curtseying to him as he walks by. 

He smiles tightly at everyone, and the voice inside of him nags at him to be kinder, to be gentler. But how can he be when a hidden ailment looms over his head causing his sorrow? These people do not know that the prince is masking a secret no one will ever be able to understand. 

He walks until he reaches the end of the road, a carriage coming towards him from a distance. He looks around tiredly, his eyes scanning mass of bowing heads. 

Everyone’s heads are lowered, except for one. Usually the prince would not care, but due to the unbearable heat of the day and the fact that he was roused from his sleep far more earlier than was deemed necessary, he is feeling especially irksome today.

One man stands by the side of the road, standing up straight as those around him lower their heads. The prince scowls and strides towards him, ignoring his footman. 

“You there,” the prince says pointing towards the man. “Why do you not bow to royalty?”

The man meets the prince’s eyes, strong and confident, with a twinkle that miffs the prince even more. And before the prince can say anything, the man smiles, open and bright, so kind and so handsome. Something shifts inside of the prince, something he cannot explain.

The man bows his head. “Forgive me, your grace. I was simply struck by your beauty,” the tailor replies with a smile. 

The prince blinks at him, his finger still suspended in the air. “I-I, w-what did you-”

“Your highness,” the footman says from beside him. “The Duke has arrived.”

The prince sputters again and the man only smiles brighter. With a sneer, the prince turns on his foot and walks back to the middle of the road, his fists clenched tightly. 

_What a little shit._

* * *

“What the fuck was that?” David asks gasping for air. He looks around frantically and sees Patrick next to him who is just a frazzled. 

“I don’t know,” Patrick says clutching onto his chest. “Come on, we need to get out of here.”

David nods and reaches for Patrick’s hand, lacing their fingers together. 

Suddenly, darkness.

* * *

The man in his modest shop is sweeping when someone enters. The prince clears his throat awkwardly as he looks around the little store. 

“Your grace,” the man says bowing his head. 

The prince is dressed in emerald green robes, standing tall and perfect in his humble little store. There are two work benches made of wood in the center, rolls of fabric strewn on both of them, several sets of scissors and shears arranged neatly on shelves by the wall. 

“You are the man from the parade,” the prince says. “The man who did not bow.”

“Forgive me, your grace,” the man murmurs. “I know that was uncouth of me.”

“Indeed,” the prince says gently. “Tell me, what is it that you do?” The prince asks while walking around the small shop with his hands behind his back. 

“I’m a tailor, your grace,” the man replies. 

“A tailor,” the prince mutters to himself, grazing his hands on the various fabrics laid out on work benches. “You are new around here, are you not?”

“Yes, your grace,” the tailor responds with a nod. “I came from a village in the north only three months ago.”

“I see,” the prince says picking up a pair of fabric shears. “Do you like it here?”

The tailor’s mouth twitches upwards. “I’m starting to.”

The prince finally turns towards the tailor and regards him silently, his eyes staring directly at him. And then the prince’s mouth twitches upwards too and the tailor grins openly at him. 

“Well,” the prince says clearing his throat. “I should leave you to your work.”

The tailor nods his head and watches the prince walk towards his door. 

“Will you come back?” The tailor blurts out suddenly. The prince pauses and turns around in shock and the tailor is about to apologize for his rudeness when he sees a twinkle in the prince’s eyes. 

Their eyes connect and there’s a shift in the air that makes the tailor hold his breath. 

The prince’s face settles into a soft smile and he says quietly, “Yes.”

The tailor lets out his breath as he watched the prince leave his store, the smell of lavender filling his shop. 

* * *

The bell above the shop door rings as the tailor is clearing his work bench. 

“So sorry, but I’m closed for the day-” he says as he turns around, but stops short when he sees the prince shifting awkwardly in front of him. The tailor’s mouth hangs in shock, measuring tape hanging limply in his hands. 

“Your grace,” the tailor says bowing to him, his heart racing within his chest. The prince is wearing a long black cloak, a silver button keeping it clasped around his neck. 

“I’m sorry to have intruded, I can come back another day-”

“No!” The tailor exclaims loudly. The prince jumps in shock and the tailor takes in a deep breath. “I mean, please stay.”

The prince smiles softly, nodding his head. He unclasps his cloak and lays it gently across one of the work benches. 

“Can I get you a cup of tea?” The tailor asks. The prince nods his head gently, and the tailor quickly works to begin a fire in his stove, his hands shaking slightly. “For what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, your grace?” The tailor asks as he carefully places a kettle onto his stove. 

“I am in need of new robes,” the prince says sitting down onto a chair. “I would like to commission you to make them.”

“Of course,” the tailor says reaching for a piece of parchment and a quill. “For what occasion?”

The prince clears his throat rather awkwardly. “A wedding.”

The tailor’s hands freeze as his heart squeezes tightly. “A wedding,” he repeats weakly. 

“Yes, I am betrothed to the daughter of the Duke. We are to be wed by the fall.”

The tailor looks at the prince, taking in the sadness in his eyes. “My congratulations to you, your grace,” the tailor murmurs. 

The prince nods stiffly. “It is an important affair and I need the best.”

The tailor’s mouth twitches. “I’m the best?”

“According to the townsfolk, you have a positive reputation.”

“You’ve been asking about me?”

A beautiful blush stains the prince’s cheeks, his mouth pressed into a tight line. “Is it a crime to look for perfection?”

The tailor smiles softly at him. “Perfection does not begin to describe you, your grace.”

The prince’s eyes widen and he looks away shyly. The air is thick with energy, the tailor feeling his hands dampen with sweat. Suddenly the kettle cries loudly, the tailor scrambling to take it off the heat and poor tea into one of his cups. 

He carefully brings the cup to the prince who accepts it gratefully, their fingers brushing together, a spark shooting up the tailor’s arms. 

The prince pulls back quickly, some of the tea sloshing out of the cup. “T-thank you,” the prince murmurs. 

The tailor swallows thickly and turns around to poor himself a cup as well, his heart pounding harder. They sip their tea in silence, night falling quickly outside. 

“I should be going back,” the prince says quietly, placing his empty teacup on the workbench. The tailor stands up with him and walks him to the door. 

“I will return tomorrow for my measurements,” the prince says clasping his cloak around his neck. 

“I look forward to seeing you,” the tailor says softly with a smile. The prince smiles back and leaves the shop, his dark robes disappearing into the night.

* * *

The prince returns the next day, standing on a wooden block as the tailor measures his body. Every light touch ignites fire within the prince, the tailor’s fingers brushing lightly against his back, his arms, his legs as he stretches the measuring tape across his body.

He returns the next day. And the day after that. Always under the guise of overlooking the construction of his robes. But the promise of tea and gentle smiles keeps him in the shop long after it has closed. 

He can’t seem to stop, to stay away. And with every smile, every shy look across the room, the prince feels his heart breaking more and more. How unfair for hope to enter his life now when his time is so short. 

* * *

The tailor is working diligently, his fingers weaving thread into fabric, his mind racing. 

It has been nine days since he last saw the prince. Nine days of silence, of an ache he didn’t know he could ever have. 

He misses him. He misses the prince desperately. He lets out a frustrated breath and puts down his work onto the workbench, running his hand through his hair. 

He should have stopped these feelings. He should have stayed away. But the beauty in the prince’s smile lures him in every time, weakening him. 

_He is betrothed_ , his mind reminds him cruelly. _He can never be yours._

But oh to dream that he could be. 

He stands from his chair and moves to lock the door, when it swings open. A blur of black enters, the wind in the tailor’s lungs rushing out of him. 

The prince stares at him as he takes down his hood, his eyes wide, his breathing ragged. 

“I shouldn’t be here,” the prince murmurs standing rigid in the middle of the shop. The tailor swallows thickly, nodding his head. “You shouldn’t.”

“Is there somewhere else we can go?” The prince asks. 

Heart pounding loudly against his chest, the tailor nods quickly and gestures him out towards the back door. “I have a cottage a small walk from here.”

The prince nods and follows him out, placing the hood of his cloak over his head again. The tailor locks his shop and they walk quickly down a dirt path enclosed with trees and bushes, shoulders hunched and hidden. The tailor’s hands are shaking from nerves and his desire to reach out and touch the prince, but he doesn’t dare to do that with the threat of being seen looming over their heads. 

His cottage, a small stone cabin tucked into a private glade is his oasis, is hidden from most of the village, allowing him to exist in quiet solitude. 

He opens the door for them, closing the door gently behind him. The prince stands in the middle of the hearth, pulling his fingers nervously. 

“Can I have a cup of tea?” He asks quietly. 

The tailor works on turning on his stove, the back of his neck prickling with nerves. 

“I have not seen you,” the tailor murmurs. 

“I have been busy entertaining guests,” the prince replies stiffly. 

“Your betrothed?” The tailor asks, his voice laced with scorn. 

“Yes.”

The tailor clenches his eyes tightly, his hands gripping the handle of the tea kettle tightly. 

“Must be very excited, your wedding is fast approaching,” the tailor says with indifference. 

“Excited is not the word I would use,” the prince murmurs. 

“Why not? It is to be the greatest event of the decade. The crown prince and his beautiful bride,” the tailor says bitterly. 

“You are being cruel,” the prince says softly. 

“There are rumors that you will be leaving for their castle, beyond the reaches of here. Does that not excite you? To be leaving here?” The tailor asks, his heart hammering against his chest. 

“You know I could never leave here,” the prince replies stepping back. 

“Why not? There is nothing for you here,” the tailor spits out. 

“You are here,” the prince whispers. 

“And who I am, your grace, but a lowly tailor,” the tailor says, his eyes alight with anger. 

The prince is quiet, and the tailor turns away, closing his eyes tightly. But a gentle brush of fingers against his cheeks make his eye fly open, staring up until the eyes of his prince. 

“You are mine,” the prince says softly. The tailor feels his eyes beginning to water, a tear cascading down his cheek. With a sob, he pushes forward and presses his lips against the prince, his body unravelling with joy. 

The kiss is gentle and perfect, the prince rubbing his thumb against his cheek, wiping his tears away. 

* * *

They stay in the tiny stone cabin wrapped in each others arms, the skies darkening as rain falls down around them. The small window by the bed opens because of the strong winds more than once, rainwater spraying the prince’s face repeatedly. 

“This is unacceptable,” the prince whines from the bed as the tailor closes the window shut again with a chuckle. 

“The rain will stop soon,” the tailor murmurs, tucking himself back into the prince’s side. And as soon as he says that, the window bursts open again, this time bringing in a stray leaf that plasters itself onto the prince’s face. 

“Enough!” The prince exclaims and waves his hand to the window which shuts closed firmly as magic seals it. 

“You have magic,” the tailor whispers with wonder. 

“I do,” the prince admits. “I got it from my mother.”

“I have heard rumors of the royal family having magic, but I never thought I would see it for myself,” the tailor says kissing the prince’s palm. 

“It is a well kept secret,” the prince agrees. 

“Except from wayward windows,” the tailor teases. 

The prince rolls his eyes and pulls the tailor back down for kisses, his laughter dying down as the prince licks into his mouth.

* * *

The tailor first notice’s the prince’s illness in the morning. He is awoken to the prince coughing roughly into the pillow underneath his head, his body racking violently. 

“It’s okay,” the tailor says gently, running his hands through the prince’s hair. He stands from the bed and fetches him water, carefully tipping the prince’s head back. 

The tailor continues to rub the prince’s back as his coughing subsides. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” the prince replies, his voice ragged. “That happens every morning.”

“Is there anything I can do?” The tailor asks, brushing hair out of the prince’s face. 

“Kisses might help,” the prince says with a blush on his cheeks and the tailor grins wide before pulling him in close and kissing his lips gently. 

They spend almost every day together from that moment on, at the shop during the day and at the cabin during the night. They do not speak about the prince’s upcoming nuptials, instead focusing the time they do have together, badgering each other before falling into bed, legs and arms tangled up. 

It is a warm summer morning when the prince asks the tailor for his life, for his love. The tailor shakes his head, knowing the consequences of the prince marrying outside of royalty. 

“I can’t ask you to give that up,” the tailor says, brushing hair out of the prince’s eyes. “I can’t let you give that up for a poor tailor.”

“I want to give it up for you,” his prince whispers. “I’ll surrender every jewel and piece of gold I have if it means I can have you.”

The tailor squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead against the prince. 

“Marry me,” the prince whispers again. “Marry me.”

“Yes.”

They wed in the glade, the heavens as their witness, exchanging simple gold bands and their hearts. And as they press their lips together, magic swells around them, locking their souls to each other. 

His family is angry, his uncle disappointed at his rashness. His mother, he reminds the prince, would have wanted more for him. 

But the prince does not falter knowing his mother wanted his happiness, wears the simple gold band with pride, even as his body weakens with every passing day. 

A month later, the tailor gets news of his father’s failing health, asking him to come quickly back to his old village. 

“I’ll be back soon,” the tailor murmurs in between the prince’s lips. 

“I’ll miss you,” the prince whispers. 

“Soon.”

He is gone for seven days, the tailor’s heart gripped tightly as the ache of longing for his prince grows stronger. His father passes peacefully, clutching onto his hand, happiness etched into the lines of his face at his son’s joy. 

“ _Run to him,_ ” he said as his body falls to rest. “ _Always run to love_.”

The tailor leaves and sets on his journey back home, his heart pulling him towards his prince. The tailor sees the village within his sight when something begins to grip at him. He drops down to his knees, gasping for breath, his eyes wide as tears begin to stream down his face. And as suddenly as it began, it stops. 

_No._

He stand shakily on his feet. 

_No._

He hears nothing but the gentle rustling of the trees. 

_Run._

So he runs. He runs until he is home and his prince is lying weakly in his bed, drenched in sweat, but smiling when he sees him. 

“Find me,” his prince whispers. 

“I’m scared,” the tailor says. “What if I lose you again?”

The prince lifts his hand again, another surge of magic circling them. 

“I cast a protection spell,” the prince murmurs. “When you find me again, we will be protected from harm.”

“Can nothing be done?” The tailor asks again, squeezing his arms tighter around the prince. 

“No, I’ve had this curse since birth. Nothing can be done,” the prince repeats weakly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The tailor asks brokenly. 

“Because I wanted our memories to be happy. I want you to remember our love, not our sorrow.”

“May our future be kinder to us,” the tailor whispers into the skin of the prince’s neck. 

“It will be.”

He dies in his arms by the morning, the tailor burying his body in the glade surrounded by wild flowers. 

The tailor does as his prince asked of him, living a good life as a good man so that the heavens show him mercy. 

He does not love again, his soul still married to his prince. 

And when he goes, the name of his prince is whispered on his lips. 

_“David.”_

* * *

“David,” Patrick whispers out loud. Suddenly his body jolts awake. He sits up, and looks around frantically for David. 

“David?” He calls out. “David!” 

David isn’t sitting on the boulder anymore. Panic takes over Patrick’s body and he runs his hands through his hair, gripping it tightly. 

“ _Find me._ ”

“David,” Patrick whispers miserably. 

* * *

“Patrick?” David says groggily, carefully sitting up from the ground. He blinks his eyes open and realizes he’s no longer in the forest. 

“Oh God,” David whispers. He’s in the middle of a field, a very open field and therefore very, very lost. 

“Oh God,” David whispers again. He goes to stand up, but pain shoots up his leg. 

“Fuck!” David says, falling back down onto he ground. He squeezes his eyes shut when he feels his eyes beginning to sting with tears. 

He takes a deep breath as his anxiety begins to spike. 

He thinks of breathing. He thinks of being calm. He thinks of Patrick. 

“Please,” he whispers frantically. “Find me.”

* * *

Patrick is pacing back and forth when he hears it again.  


“ _Find me._ ”

But this time it is louder, and the voice in clear. It’s David’s voice. 

“David,” Patrick says and begins walking. “David!”

Patrick begins running. 

He runs quickly through the forest, jumping over fallen logs. He runs even as his lungs burn. He runs as he thinks about David’s face. 

He runs until he finds a glade, stopping at its edge and looking around desperately. The tall grass and wildflowers tickle his ankles. His eyes rake over the field until he sees David, sitting in the middle, his black clothing sticking out against the green field. 

“David,” Patrick breathes out in relief. “David!”

David turns his head around and crumbles the moment he sees Patrick. 

“David, David, David,” Patrick murmurs when he reaches him, falling to his knees and pulling him in with his arms. 

“You found me,” David wails, burying his head into Patrick’s shoulder. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Patrick says rubbing David’s back. “I’m so sorry, David.”

“Can we go home now?” David asks while sniffling. “I’m done with nature today.”

“Yes,” Patrick laughs through his own tears. “Let’s get you home.”

Patrick helps David up, holding him up by the waist while David hooks his arm over Patrick’s shoulder. When they stand up, David looks down at Patrick, his mouth curled up, his eyes soft and wet with tears. 

And maybe it’s the relief of finding David that gives him the courage to lean up and press his lips against his, a lavender colored wind swirling around them. 

* * *

“I have to go back,” the prince whispers as he leans his head against the tailor’s shoulder. They’re sitting in the glade next to the cottage watching the sunrise.

“I know,” the tailor says, playing with his fingers. “You’ll be back, though?”

“Yes, of course,” the prince replies. “I’ll be back soon.”

The tailor turns his head and nuzzles his nose against the prince’s face. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

* * *

David pulls back in shock, Patrick’s eyes reflecting the same amount of surprise. 

David blinks at Patrick as his mind settles down, coiling around his new memories. 

“David,” Patrick whispers, his hand reaching up to cup his cheek. 

“You found me,” David breathes out. 

And then Patrick smiles, brighter than the sun above them and pulls David back in, crashing their lips together as magic soars around them, the smell of lavender tickling their noses. 

* * *

“So, you believe me?” Stevie asks as she watches David unboxing a new box of candles. 

“Yes,” David answers shortly.

"You believe in magic?"

"Yes."

“Huh, what happened?”

The sound of the shop bell rings and Patrick enters with two cups in his hand. He smiles at David and hands him his cup, kissing him gently on the lips. 

“Nothing important.”


End file.
